her presence
of mind, and in this she failed not.

The rod top was nid-nodding sweetly, the hand gently turning the reel
handle, the fish held and guided. All was well. "What shall I do,
cousin, now?" she asked. "Take it easy," he answered from the bank;
"walk gently out towards me, don't slacken the line, and don't hurry
the fish." And successfully done as formulated. Blind was throughout
mistress of the situation, and in the absence of a landing net, which
had not entered for a moment into calculations, she backed in perfect
order up the gentle slope, and the fish docilely followed her up and up
till it was high and dry, gasping on blossoms of silver weed. It was
only a grayling, to be sure, black, and out of condition; but there it
was, admired and petted. Blind would have kissed the creature I do
believe if spectators had not been present; anyhow she would not hear
of return to the water. What was close time to her? It was the first
captive of her bow and spear, and nothing would content her but
embalming, and a glass case.

Lammy was not so happy as her sister that night; the vicar had tried
almost in vain to induct her into the art of fishing up-stream, and her
casts across, on wet fly principles, while not so very bad for a
beginner, were so obvious a contrast to those of Blind that she was not
eager to dwell too much upon the wonderful luck that had befallen.
Much conversation ensued for days as to the approaching Mayfly
carnival. The girls demanded the water to themselves during its
period, and as Lamia had landed a small trout that had hooked itself
down stream on a submerged olive dun, she was soon as much bitten with
the fishing mania as Blind herself. It was comforting to the vicar and
cousin to be informed by the girls that they would henceforth accept no
services from "hangers-on"--meaning that they would do their own
landing and basketing. "We shall see," said cousin to the parson;
"meanwhile (after I have bought the correct article in landing nets) we
shall be having a lively time, I can perceive, when the old man
slouches up some evening to say 'Mayfly be up now, missie.'"

"Aye, they are still faithful to the gentle art." Seasons had flown
with that year's Mayflies, and Netherbate and its kindly people had to
me become just a pleasant remembrance. But spite of the archidiaconal
hat and gaiters I knew the vicar when accidentally met on the platform
of York Station, and his reply to on